Unorthodox Angel
by Wings-of-Icarus
Summary: He is not the angel I expected him to be. He is handsome, yes. But he does not look the part of an angel. He is rugged and tall, not bulky, but muscular, with hair the color of lemons and sunshine, and ever blue eyes. Naruto... NaruSasu


Darkness. As I reach out in front of me, that's all I can see. An endless expanse of darkness. Nothingness. Solitude. I am alone. Nothing can reach me. Nothing can see me. Nothing can hear me. And I cannot reach out. I cannot be saved. I cannot live, but neither can I die. I am trapped in an infinity of blackness. The prospects are bleak. I have given up, long ago. I don't remember life before this darkness. Have I even ever known anything else?

Then, suddenly-

Light. Light floods the darkness, chasing it away. It sweeps in like a phoenix, ever burning, eternal. A faint outline appears. It is a hand, swathed in an ethereal glow. I have hope for a fleeting second, but I think; _if that hand touches me, I will taint it. If I touch it, I will be destroyed. I am a creature of darkness. I cannot go to the light._ I do not think that a creature of such brilliance should be grasping for my hand, of all things. I do not reach out.

But still it remains.

Tentatively, I stretch out my own hand, millimeters away from touching the other. It is still, as if waiting for me to take it. It does not retreat into the light from whence it came. It is still there, surrounded by light and darkness. What have I to lose? I have nothing to lose, I declare in my mind, and everything to gain. I decide to take the chance.

I place my hand in theirs.

The warm of this light hand envelops mine as it closes around it, and it slowly begins to pull back, my hand still in theirs. Slowly, I am pulled into the light. First my arm, then face, then torso, and finally, legs. The warmth of the light is something familiar; it is something missed and desperately longed for in the cold heart of the dark. It is like a blanket of sun, surrounding, welcoming. I turn to the one who has rescued my soul from the all-consuming blackness.

He is not the angel I expected him to be.

He is handsome, yes. But is he fair and feminine, holding a harp and framed by white wings? No. He does not look the part of an angel. He is rugged and tall, not bulky, but muscular, with hair the color of lemons and sunshine. His eyes are a brilliant, indescribable blue, not quite sapphire, but not sky nor ocean blue. His skin is tanned to a perfect bronze shade. He is bright, but not holy.

He is also scarred.

Three lines on each cheek; they are like whiskers. Something about them gives him an animalistic quality, balanced by the warmth and love in his eyes. I know this face. I know this heart, bared by ever-blue eyes. It is burning, encompassing, passionate. I cannot ever forget this man. I will not ever forget this man. Never again. A name rises to my lips, one to match the face I have known, loved and hated for all of my life.

"Naruto."

He smiles, and to me, it outshines the sun. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall. I want to wipe them away, so I do. It is the least I can do for the man who has saved me countless times, never giving up. It is the least I can do for my first and best friend. The one person I had loved beyond all reason, and one of many I have betrayed.

"Sasuke. You remembered."

Naruto chokes out these words as he pulls me into an embrace. I am not confused. I had betrayed him again, and he has forgiven me again. He has saved me again. And I have fallen in love with him again. As he holds me, memories flood me. It is not clear to me what has happened. The passage of time is evident. Naruto is not old, but he is older than the young man I had last seen him as. I want to know what has happened. How long I have been gone.

I ask him.

He tells me that it has been far longer than I think. In the final battle, I had jumped in front of Madara's _Kamui_. In the end, I had chosen him over Madara. It was my form of repentance. And his grief and rage had turned into power. He had made the Kyuubi submit to his sheer willpower. He had purified it. And he had used it.

Madara was destroyed.

Years passed, yet he did not age. He was a creature, not quite human, nor demon, nor god of any sort. He was eternal. He watched as everyone passed. He grew stronger, stronger than ever before, and ensured the safety of those he loved- and the ones they loved, too. But I was missing. I, who had sacrificed for him. Without who he would have been trapped in the place I had gone, unable to save those he was fighting for. Without who Madara would have won.

I, who he loved.

So he searched for me. He created the peace so longed for by the generation before his; the peace longed for by the three who made up Pein: Nagato, Yahiko, and Konan; The peace longed for by Jiraiya and Tsunade. The peace longed for by the First, Second, Third and Fourth Hokages, and many other souls left unheard. And when he had accomplished that, he searched.

He searched for me.

And he had found me. Lost in darkness, unrelenting, all-consuming darkness, and he had saved me. Again. I, the one who hurt him and abused him, loved and murdered him, destroyed him from the inside out but also saved him. He embraces me, and enveloped in his warmth, I, too, can understand the previous generation's desire for peace. But my peace is not the same as theirs. My peace is simply here, with him. When he is by my side, my heart pounds and my blood sings, yet they calm at the same time.

With him, I am whole.


End file.
